Forlorn Hope
by The Emcee
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield is on his death bed and Bilbo is praying to whoever would listen to spare the Dwarf King's life, no matter what the price. Thilbo one-shot. Slash.


Title: Forlorn Hope

Author: The Emcee

Pairing: Thilbo

Rating: K+

Summary: Thorin Oakenshield is on his death bed and Bilbo is praying to whoever would listen to spare the Dwarf King's life, no matter what the price.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the actors, characters, or the fandom.

A/N: I wanted to write something kind of sad, so here it is. Let me know what you think, yeah? R&R. Enjoy!

**Forlorn Hope**

"Come with me," Gandalf said, his voice grave and filled with regretful sorrow. "He has been requesting your presence for some time now."

Bilbo didn't have to ask the wizard what was wrong. He knew what was wrong. It was all around him. Men, elves and dwarves…many of them were dead or dying. Thankfully, none of the Company had died. At least, that was all he heard Gandalf say as he led him past the various tents and camps to Thorin. Many of them were injured, Kili especially so, but they were alive.

Thorin was the only exception, however. Bilbo did not need to step inside the tent to know that the Dwarf King was about to pass on. His heart clenched at the very thought and a deep sadness swelled inside of him. By the expression on Gandalf's face, the hobbit knew that Thorin had very little time left. Tears stung his eyes and Bilbo found himself regretting taking the Arkenstone even more than he had before hand. He found himself regretting a lot more than that, but the Arkenstone was the most serious offense he had made against the leader of the Company, Erebor's king, his king.

Gandalf ushered Bilbo inside Thorin's tent, which was, naturally, fit for a king. And a king he was. Even battered and bruised and bleeding out, Thorin looked majestic and strong and powerful on his cot full of thick, warm furs. Although the furs covered his body, Bilbo could see the blood that had soaked through the bandages wrapped around his chest and was seeping into the furs. With his labored breathing and his all too pale face, Thorin Oakenshield looked pretty much dead already.

That was, until he opened his eyes.

Those beautiful, magnificent eyes, as blue as ice, immediately met Bilbo's own blue eyes, which weren't nearly as breathtaking. Of course, that was to be expected; he was but a mere hobbit and Thorin was a dwarf king. Everything and everyone around them melted away. It was just the two of them in the tent. As they gazed at each other, so many emotions passed across their faces. On Thorin's, there was relief, happiness, love, and sadness; on Bilbo's, sorrow, despair, regret, and love, always love. There were so many other emotions, but he didn't have the time to name them, not when Thorin's voice, grave and rough, broke the spell and brought back everyone else in the tent.

"Leave us. Now," he commanded with as much strength as he could muster. Everyone, Gandalf included, left the tent, leaving Bilbo alone with the fatally wounded king.

Being alone with Thorin made the reality of what was happening slam full force into him. Thorin was dying. The only person Bilbo had ever been in love with, the only person Bilbo wanted to spend the rest of his life with, was going to leave him. Not just him, but Fili and Kili, Balin and Dwalin, and the rest of the Company and all of the dwarves of Erebor who were waiting to return to their home. So many people were counting on Thorin to lead them and rebuild their home. Thorin was so very important to so many people, not just Bilbo, and he couldn't die. He couldn't.

"Come. Sit by me," Thorin requested softly, barely able to lift his hand and motion for the hobbit to come over. And who was Bilbo to deny him anything?

Treading softly, Bilbo made his way over to the king and knelt down beside him. Thorin lifted his hand and Bilbo grasped it in between both of his. He gasped when he realized how cold it was and how little strength the dwarf hand in it. Tears shone brightly in his eyes and he studied Thorin carefully. Oh yes, he was very pale indeed and sweat and blood matted strands of black and silver hair to his face. His eyes, usually so sharp and fierce, were beginning to dull. Life was leaving the dwarf who had so completely captured his heart and Bilbo was absolutely helpless to try and stop it.

"Bilbo…" Thorin muttered softly. Scooter closer to the cot, Bilbo nodded, his eyes never leaving the others.

"Yes. Yes, I-I am here, Thorin. I shan't go anywhere," Bilbo said, trying to reassure the dying king. A small, weak smile spread across Thorin's lips and Bilbo was hit with the regret of never having kissed those lips.

"Such a stubborn hobbit. _My_ stubborn hobbit. My burglar," Thorin spoke softly and he coughed wet-sounding coughs that frightened Bilbo more than Azog the Defiler or Smaug the Terrible combined.

"Yes," Bilbo nodded, tears making it very difficult and hard for him to see Thorin properly, which only frustrated him. "Yes, I am your burglar. Always your burglar." At that, Thorin smiled a bit wider, his dulling eyes lighting as though a burden had been lifted off of him.

"I…I am sorry, my hobbit, for casting you off…for losing my temper…for so many things..." Another coughing fit interrupted Thorin's words. "I wish…I wish I could tell you…how much I truly regret…every harsh word I uttered at you." His entire body shaking, Bilbo gripped Thorin's hand as though his life depended on it.

"You were right for the most part, though," he said, laughing brokenly at the end of his sentence which sounded more like sobbing.

"No, Bilbo. I was wrong," Thorin said with so much strength and conviction that Bilbo didn't argue with him. "If only there were more time…but there is not."

With his other free hand, Thorin reached up and lightly, oh, so lightly, he caressed Bilbo's cheek. Closing his eyes, the hobbit reveled in the loving touch and wished for more. But there wasn't going to be anymore, not ever. Thinking about it and about the fact that Thorin was about to be lost to him forever broke his heart. Or it would have, if he had a heart to break. Bilbo had given it to Thorin and he had yet to get it back. He doubted that he ever would.

"Thorin, I…I am so…so very s-sorry for…for everything. The Arkenstone-"

"Do not apologize, my burglar," Thorin cut him off, his voice growing weaker by the second. "You are wise...and saw what I could not. There is nothing…to be sorry for." He coughed so more and the wet, strained sounds emitting from the Dwarf King gripped Bilbo's heart painfully.

"Thorin, y-you must r-r-rest now," Bilbo told him, tears beginning to fall from his eyes and rolling thick and fat down his cheeks. "You are weary and exhausted. R-rest now…please." Nodding, Thorin closed his eyes and his body relaxed.

As Bilbo sat beside him, gripping the king's hand with both of his own, he began to pray. He knew it was futile and that nothing could turn back time and prevent Thorin from being so gravely injured, but he prayed all the same.

_Please, please let him live,_ Bilbo wished with all of his heart and soul, with everything that he had.

_Thorin is important. Not just to me, but to many people. _

_Fili and Kili need their uncle. _

_Balin needs his king. _

_The Company needs their leader._

_The dwarves of Erebor need their king to rebuild their home and lead them._

_Whatever it takes, bring him back. _

_Heal him, strengthen him, and bring him back._

_If there is a price, then I will gladly pay it. _

_If I must trade my life for his, then I will do so gladly. _

_Just please…_

_Please…_

Bilbo repeated the words in his head with as much strength and conviction as he could muster. He screamed them within his heart. His soul rang loud and true, loyal to the dwarf that he would always think of as his king. Every fiber of his being wished strongly for Thorin to not die and to live, live and heal and be strong. And he meant what he had said; he would be more than happy to give up his own life in order to save Thorin's. If that's what it took, then he would do it.

If that's what it took…

_A life for a life_. The words, said in a voice that Bilbo did not recognize, entered his mind. Startled, he looked around the tent. There was no one else there aside from Thorin and himself. He turned back to Thorin. Barely, he could see the Dwarf King's chest rise and fall, but only every so often and too short to really count.

_Yes!_ His mind, heart, and soul shouted as loudly as they could. _Yes! Take me, take my life! Just restore his. Please. You can have me! But please, spare him._

Holding his breath, Bilbo waited. For what, he was not sure, but he waited nonetheless. His heart pounded in his chest and his ears. Tears continued to fall from his eyes, but hope shone as bright and as fierce as the rising sun.

_Your life for his. Let it be done._

Bilbo laughed, he actually laughed! His prayers were answered! With a bright, happy smile on his face, Bilbo watched in awe and joy as his hands, still holding Thorin's, began to warm up and glow with a strong, warm golden light. The light spread from his hands to Thorin's and then throughout the dwarf's body, but Bilbo didn't let go. He refused. Even as his eye lids began to feel too heavy, he watched. Even as he began to feel weaker, more drained and tired, and lighter, as though his being was being unraveled like a ball of yarn, Bilbo kept vigilant over Thorin.

Little by little, the king's chest began to rise and fall steadily. The paleness of death began to leave him and color returned to his face and his body. Thorin's hand felt strong and warm in his smaller ones and Bilbo felt himself smile. His world was darkening, blackness was taking over, but he could still make out, even if it was just barely, Thorin's eyes opening. The Dwarf King blinked a few times and turned to him, but Bilbo's eyes were closed. Everything around him was dark. Whatever Thorin was going to say to him fell on deaf ears.

Bilbo's body slumped forward onto the cot and he died.

**~…~**

Warm. Bilbo felt warm and comfortable, almost as though he were lying on the softest, most comfortable bed he could ever imagine. His body felt stiff, but it wasn't aching or sore anymore, not like it had been when he first regained consciousness after the Battle of Five Armies. Blankets and furs covered his body, which was dressed in a soft shirt that as so long that it reached down to his knees. Had he cared, he would've felt a bit embarrassed that he was, for the most part, wearing what could have been considered a woman's nightgown.

Sighing softly, Bilbo didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to wake up and find himself in the afterlife. Although he had gladly given his life in exchange for Thorin's, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle being dead yet. However, now that he thought about it, he supposed that he could watch over Thorin now, kind of like the guardian angels his mother used to tell him about. That thought gave him renewed hope, even though his heart ached to be able to see Thorin, talk to him, and, if possible, hold him one last time. _Mustn't be selfish, old boy,_ he chided himself. It was time that he put his big hobbit pants on and faced the music.

He opened his eyes.

He blinked.

His brow furrowed.

What he was staring at wasn't a light blue sky with soft, puffy clouds that were enveloped in an ethereal glow. It wasn't even a white light; it was the canopy of a bed. How odd. How very, very odd. Now, Bilbo will be the first one to admit that he knew nothing about the afterlife, even with having read books about it. If his adventure with the Company to Erebor had taught him anything, it was that books didn't compare to real life experiences. Therefore, it made sense that he didn't think that there would be beds.

From beside him, someone moved and he felt a large, warm hand stroke his face. Bilbo knew that hand and his body tensed. His eyes widened with fear and disbelief. That was Thorin's hand. Oh, Aule, no! Thorin had to be alive and well again, he just _had_ to be. A deep chuckle resonated from the dwarf beside him.

"All is well, my burglar. I am not dead. And neither are you for that matter," Thorin spoke to him softly, his voice warm and full of strength and life.

Bilbo turned his head and looked at the dwarf, the king, who had captured his heart. Thorin looked so much better. His face wasn't pale anymore; it was tanned and strong and so handsome. Trailing his eyes over Thorin's body, he saw that he was no longer wrapped in bandages, bleeding and broken. He looked like himself again and it brought tears of joy to his eyes. But at the same time, confusion came to his mind. If Thorin wasn't dead, if he wasn't dead, then how had Thorin come back to life? A life for a life; Bilbo remembered that very clearly and he had given himself freely to whoever could make it happen. And yet here they were.

"T-Thorin?" Bilbo asked and his voice sound dry and strained from not being used for a while.

"Yes, Halfling?" Thorin replied, his eyes roaming over him, waking his body up and making him want to reach out and touch the king lying beside him.

"How? How are we both still here?" Bilbo asked him. "I gave my life for yours. I should be dead."

"Yes, indeed, and I will lecture you on that later," Thorin said, trying to sound commanding but instead he came across as worried. Hearing the concern in the king's voice made Bilbo's heart flutter and filled his stomach with butterflies. "For now, however, I am glad that you are alive and well."

"But _how_?" Bilbo asked again. He appreciated Thorin's words, but he needed to know.

"Quite simple, really," Gandalf's voice caused Bilbo to tear his eyes away from Thorin and search for the wizard. He found him standing by the door, his eyes twinkling. "When Thorin realized that you had sacrificed yourself for him, he willed some of your life energy back into your body. You were unconscious but alive when he called for me. And it was a good thing that he did too. Had I been any later, you may not have woken up this soon, not after having lost so much of your life energy."

"So…was I…ever dead?" Bilbo asked, feeling dumbfounded.

"For a very brief moment, yes, you were," Gandalf told him. And then he smiled and his eyes crinkled. "Now, I shall leave the two of you alone and inform the others that we have our burglar back." With that, Gandalf left the bedroom, leaving Bilbo alone with Thorin, who was rubbing his back and shoulders gently.

"Did you mean it?" Thorin asked him. Bilbo looked up at him, his expression puzzled.

"Mean what?"

"That you would always be my burglar," Thorin said. At that, Bilbo's face flushed and he looked away. Well, he would have had Thorin not gently grasped his chin and forced him to meet his gaze. "Answer me. Please."

"Yes," Bilbo breathed out. "I meant it. You are my king, the only king I would ever bow to, and I would give my life for you in a heartbeat."

"Oh, Bilbo…" Thorin whispered before he pressed his lips to Bilbo's in a soft, chaste kiss. The kiss sent pleasant shivers all along his body and Bilbo felt himself scoot closer to the dwarf. His body felt so stiff and heavy, but he forced it to move anyway. All too soon, Thorin pulled away and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Have you any idea how much I love you?" Thorin whispered and then Bilbo felt his body tense, almost as though he didn't realize he had said the words out loud. But he had and they were there, hanging in the air. Bilbo looked up at him with wide eyes full of hope and love.

"Do…do you really mean that, Thorin?" Thorin met his gaze and Bilbo could see the love in them as plain as day.

"Yes, my little one, I do." Bilbo smiled even as his face and ears turned a bright red.

"I love you as well, my king." They kissed once more and Bilbo wanted to deepen in, to be swallowed up entirely by the King Under the Mountain. However, Thorin pulled away and forced him to lie down on the bed.

"I promise you, my hobbit, that I will make love to you all night along as soon as you are well again," Thorin told him as he pressed another kiss to Bilbo's forehead. "For now, rest. You are in need of it." Unable to deny his king anything, Bilbo nodded and relaxed.

"Will you stay here beside me until I wake up again?" Bilbo asked, sounding tired, but hopeful. Thorin smiled and laid down beside him, his arms wrapping around him, pulling him close and keeping him warm, safe and sound.

"Of course, my burglar. Anything you want."

With that, a tired smile crept across his face. Bilbo closed his eyes and cuddled against Thorin's chest. As he listened to the other's heartbeat, he found himself being lulled into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, so very happy that Thorin was alive and well and that they were finally, finally, together.


End file.
